Catch
by Inane Insane
Summary: Catch up', they told him. All he can do is smile, because he'll never catch up.(Dark fic, Sasuke-centric. Filler due to 'Put me Out' being on Haitus)


**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Naruto. I only own the plot.

**WARNING:** Contains dark themes.

Due to 'Put me Out' being on haitus, I decided to do this. A filler fanfiction.

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O

A dream.

A dream where you would fall into an endless oblivion of light, escaping the dark that forever holds you in it's grasp, in it's _vengeful grasp._

This is what Sasuke wants to dream of.

The dreams Sasuke have, though, are a lot less beautiful, a lot less full of hope. The dreams he has are bloody and hold revenge, cast cobwebs in his head so that he can't think of anything else _but_ revenge on his older brother, and death for his rival.

The older brother that showed Sasuke death at such a young age. At the age where most children are learning how to become a ninja, or where they go to school with friends that care. Sasuke, at this age, saw his parents being killed.

That was the first time Sasuke felt _real_ betrayal.

The rival that showed up and showed him that he is too weak, that he needs to catch up. At the age where you shouldn't be competitive enough to want to kill the person you care enough for, and who cares for you.

That was the first time Sasuke felt _real _rivalry.

He feels it every night too, in his dreams.

In his dreams, he is walking along a hallway, a part of his home. Various names are plastered on the wall, in red, and he doesn't know who these people are, but he _knows_ them to an extent where horror and fear are creeping along his spine and arms in goosebumps.

The endless hallway does come to an end. To a wide set of doors, and each time he tells himself _'No, Don't go in there, DON'T GO IN THERE.'_. Yet, he does, using hands that feel too small for his current age to push open the doors.

He is met with nothing. There is nothing but the red color on the walls.

There is nothing but a mirror standing right across from him, now, and he has to wonder how it appeared so suddenly. He can't though, because this is a dream. and he can only think what the dream makes him think.

So, each night, he walks towards the mirror. The strange thing is that he doesn't see a reflection of himself. He sees the back of a person, covered in shadows, in an outfit he _knows_ he has seen before.

He keeps on walking until he reaches the mirror, close enough to lift a finger and drag it down the glassy surface.

He does so, leaving a mark, a tell-tale sign that he was there. The person standing in the mirror turns around.

There. He is met with red.

Red eyes and bloody lips and crimson clothes. The red eyes are so terrifying, so bloody and cool, _a cold fire,_ in a sense. He realizes he hates the color red, and that he is terrified. He wants to run.

He can't. His legs won't move, and _that person_ is coming towards him, and he can't move. Why can his brother move, and he cannot?

Before he can answer himself, his brother is there and close enough to drag a finger down the opposite surface. He does so, dragging a finger down the glassy surface on the other side lightly, and it's breaking the glass where it's touching it, while his only left a mark where his finger touched harshly.

His brother smirks. He can't move at all. His brother mouths something, and he can only read one word from the bloody lips, though there is much more. He knows that this word is the point his brother is getting across.

_Weak._

_That's why I can move. That is why I can break glass with a simple touch. That is why you are terrified._

_You are weak._

He hates him. He is strong. He tries to mouth this to his brother, but he can't move his face. His brother mouths something again.

_You are not strong enough._

Then, moving away. His brother is moving away, turning his back again, and he can only stare at the never-ending _disappointment _that radiates off of his brother's image.

He can move now.

He's slamming on the mirror with his fists, now a size he is comfortable with, trying to get it to break. It won't even move.

There. He is met with bright colors.

Blue eyes and smiling lips and orange clothes. The blue eyes are so annoying, so happy and determined, _a serious frivolity,_ in a sense. He realizes that he hates the color blue, and that he wants to go onto the other side with this boy, to fight.

He's slamming on the glass again, this time hard enough to break his own knuckles. The boy is still smiling, and coming towards him. Why can his best friend act so happy when Sasuke can't go near him?

He steps back as the boy comes nearer, close enough that he could drag a finger down the opposite surface. He doesn't, though. He puts a hand through the glass.

There's a hand through the glass and Sasuke can touch it. He doesn't want too, though, because he can get through the mirror on his own.

The boy is waiting and Sasuke is standing there, staring. He's telling himself to grab it. His heart is, his body is, his mind is, but his pride isn't. So he won't grab it.

Then the boy frowns, then smiles, then shrugs, and pulls his hand back.

Only then does Sasuke want to grab it, so much that the urge is so overwhelming, so completely _swallowing_ him, that he starts pounding on the glass.

His best friend gives him a smile, and now he is mouthing something. Sasuke pauses to watch the lips move, no longer smiling and set in a stubborn line. He can only catch one word, and he gets the whole point of what he is saying.

_Hurry._

_Hurry, Sasuke. It's so boring over here. Catch up._

_I'll be waiting, and you know I'm impatient!_

He hates this person now, for mocking him in his own way. He tries to insult him, tell him that he can wait. He can't move his face again, or anything else. A frown from the image of his friend, who mouths something again.

_You're slow, Sasuke. I'm going._

Then, the bright colors are suddenly darker. His rival is moving away, turning his back and glancing at him, and he can only stare at the _pure_ frustration that come off of his friend's actions.

He can move now.

He is now slamming harder then he was before, trying to match the crack that he had somehow missed with his friend there, breaking his other knuckle. Tears are coming down his cheeks, he doesn't know why, and he's throwing his body at the mirror.

The emotions consuming him are helplessness and hopelessness and worthlessness and emptiness.

He's so caught up in these feelings, trying so _hard_ to break the mirror that holds him from his brother and his rival, that he doesn't notice the darkness seeping out from the crack. He doesn't notice it until it grabs his fists and teases his broken knuckles with a dead breathe. He can't move back fast enough, and he's caught in this hold, this _sinister _grasp.

The darkness is swallowing up the mirror. Keeping him from catching his brother and his rival.

He's struggling against the hold, even slamming into the main body of shadow seeping out of the mirror. It grabs a hold of his neck, and a pain erupts on the side, on his shoulder. He tries to ignore it.

He's struggling harder, more now, trying to make it let go of him so he can break the mirror.

It's swallowing the mirror.

He's limp now, watching as the very edges of the mirror disappear. The darkness disappears also. He is alone with the wood that used to be the mirror.

He somehow finds the strength that was taken from him and slumps to the ground. His eyes can only comprehend the blue and red writing, red overlapping blue, on the wood. It says something that renders all of his functions useless.

_'Catch up'_

He can't.

His eyes are open now, and he's in his bed, and he can only stare at the ceiling.

All he can do is smile.

He'll never catch up.

O.O.O.O.O

_The anger is happy,_

_The emptiness is filling,_

_The weakness is strong,_

_The hate is loving,_

_And there's something _

_I can do to stop the nothing,_

_So can you wait and let me_

_Catch up?_


End file.
